9. Onward

I had moved back to the couch in the early hours, so that when the maid knocked with hot water for washing, all appeared as it should be, and Charlotte's dignity was preserved.

During breakfast I called for Hopley, and he told me that the rain, which had been quite ferocious during the night, had abated but that there was still a great deal of standing water about. We should be able to proceed, he told me, but we would need to be careful in places.

And so it was that we continued our journey. We set off through Aylesbury town, and as Charlotte and I talked, we found the brougham frequently slowing to a walk, and in one case because the road was partly washed away, Hopley asked us to dismount. He and Henry drove the short distance along what was left of the roadway, which was quite narrow for the wheelbase of the brougham. Then when it was safe on the other side, Charlotte and I easily walked the same path - a couple of yards - before re-mounting the carriage.

The inn had packed a hamper for us, and while it was a cold meal, it was excellent fare, and apparently Hopley and Henry also had had some food packed for them as well.

I was thinking about the night before, and enjoying the recollection, when I saw Charlotte watching me.

"What are you thinking, William?" She asked.

"Oh! Nothing much." I told her. "Except one small thing ..." She was intrigued.

"I just wondered how you know so much about love-making and so on."

"But yet I was still a virgin?"

"Precisely!" I told her.

Charlotte rummaged in her bag and produced a small book, in a plain leather cover.

"Catullus?" I was surprised. It was a Latin text by the Roman author Gaius Valerius Catullus, a collection of his poems. My sisters and I had all learned Latin when we were younger, but I had never read anything by him, having studied Caesar's Gallic Wars myself.

Charlotte took the book from me and turned to a page.

"I will sodomize you and face-fuck you," she began, translating the text to English from Latin, as she read.

"Bottom Aurelius and catamite Furius,

you who think, because my poems

are sensitive, that I have no shame.

For it's proper for a devoted poet to be moral

himself, [but] in no way is it necessary for his poems.

In point of fact, these have wit and charm,

if they are sensitive and a little shameless,

and can arouse an itch,

and I don't mean in boys, but in those hairy old men

who can't get it up.

Because you've read my countless kisses,

you think less of me as a man?

I will sodomize you and face-fuck you."

It was bizarre indeed to hear my sister read this aloud.

"And how did you come by this?" I asked, still bemused by the lewdness of the passage.

"It was among some books that I found some years ago, I think father had put them down and forgotten about them. It was, you will appreciate, an eye-opener to possibilities, even if there was little chance of exploring them."

"Until I arrived?"

Charlotte kissed me. "But we shared so much when we were younger, William, I was certain you would not begrudge me your assistance. There are so many opportunities to explore. Do you not think? Sodomy? Face fucking? It all sounds very interesting."

My grunt was non-committal. Charlotte's revelation certainly did offer some interesting possibilities.

More importantly, when I considered it, I further realised just how much had changed at home, subtle changes, almost secret ones, but changes all the same. And I had just been caught up in one of them. I have previously observed to you that my sisters were no longer the girls I had grown up with, and they had their own interests that I needed to understand. Obviously in this case, the nature of the changes was a bit of a surprise, but oh well, I thought, worse things happen at sea.